Behind Closed Doors ...

He opened the door.

Then I heard him talking to someone; it sounded like maybe two people, their voices sounded very familiar, and although I couldn't be sure, I knew they worked here too.

I couldn't make out all of the words, and if he were startled, I couldn't tell. His calmness made it sound as if their questions were about the weather or something they had just seen in the parking lot.

That it was after hours when everyone else was gone, made their appearance and conversation all the more suspicious.

That I was only a few dozen feet away and naked never came up in the conversation. My heart was in my throat as my clothes weren't even close; if they came in, there was no place to hide.

I knew there had only been one car parked near the building.

After a few moments, I was sure that the two people worked here. It was not a coincidence; why else would they come now? Whether suspicious or not, after a few more minutes of conversation, he said, "Good night," and the door closed. I assumed they walked away, likely now unsure, and likely not getting the discovery of the results they had expected.

That he was working late was not a surprise; that two staffers had come to the door was. This was yet another close call for us; I realized I had been holding my breath, and I could feel ripples of electricity from my toes to my hair from the tension, and my excitement that we had come so close to discovery was off the chart.

I think they had been sure that someone else, someone who shouldn't have been there, was going to be there, and when he didn't seem flustered or concerned, I was sure they were disappointed.

He had been very confident; was it arrogance? No, it was something else; he wasn't arrogant, he was confident, self-assured... protective. Yes, that was my feeling, protective, protective of me.

---

I remembered when our relationship had changed. It had been longer ago than I would have believed.

That was when he went from being just my boss to having the potential of something more. There was something in the way he moved, a kind of quiet confidence that drew my attention and wouldn't let go.

It wasn't that he was handsome, he was, but not in a movie star way, his good looks had more to do with the way he was, than how he looked. It was the way he made everyone feel at ease. People were drawn to him, but there was something else, something he didn't show, and something you only noticed if you paid close attention.

I found myself increasingly wanting to know more about him, to peel back the layers and discover what he kept hidden. It was more than curiosity. It was fascination, yes, but also a pull I couldn't name.

I knew at one level it was wrong; he was a married man. He was my boss, a senior manager, respected, and I worried that the cost of doing what we were would destroy him, his reputation, and his marriage. I shouldn't have been this interested, but it was like I couldn't stop myself. I found he smiled often, but I learned what he showed was only a fraction of who he was. When he talked I found myself leaning forward without realizing it, curious, captivated.

The costs to me would have been equally devastating; I was married as well. To a man, much older than me, I was a grandmother; the scandal would undo everything, but here I was naked, standing in the shadows, waiting for a man who would ravish me and wanting that more than anything else.

I watched him close the door. Even in mundane moments, he moved with a grace that made my pulse quicken." As I thought I was learning more about him, I learned he had more hidden elements that only made my curiosity grow, and something else grow. The faint scent of his cologne, the warmth in the curve of his smile, always lingered in my mind long after each moment we were together had passed.

That was just one door that opened, maybe not a physical one, but a very real one, nonetheless, and it wasn't the last one either.

---

As he walked back from the door, I listened to the sound of his shoes on the carpeted floor; he walked quietly but with purpose.

His footsteps came closer; had they been watching, they would have expected him to turn right towards his office. Instead, he turned left and entered an open, unmarked door. The room was one of a handful we used for visiting community groups. A space in direct line of sight from where the three of them had been speaking only moments before, he kissed me, his rough hands running up and down my naked body.

"It was a good thing you parked next door and walked over," he chuckled as his lips broke away from mine.

"Good thing."

My words were partially muffled as we kissed again, as his hands roamed my body, the heat seeming to rise from everywhere on me at once.

---

The first time we had kissed, months ago now, was just a few doors from where we were kissing. I still found it hard to believe what we were doing was real and that so little time had passed since that first time.

That first particular door led to a stairwell and then up to a dusty and seldom-used supply room. Hardly the most romantic of locations. Surrounded by old and forgotten items rarely used but too useful to throw away, the irony was not lost on me.

We had gone up the stairs quietly, his warm hand holding mine, him leading me to someplace I had never thought I wanted to go to in the past, but right now was all I wanted to do.

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the occasional creak of the floor. He leaned in, and I felt the world narrow down to just us. The rest of the building, the outside, all of it faded away.

He whispered something I couldn't quite make out, but the sound alone sent a thrill through me. I responded in kind, letting him take the lead.

The brush of his shoulder against mine sent shivers through me. He leaned in. I shivered even more. Our world narrowed some more. I wasn't sure what would happen next, but I knew I wanted it. My knees weakened, my breath hitched, a flush spreading across my skin.

Then he spoke again, this time a little louder, smiling and told me in that soft, barely heard voice, that I was beautiful, and then he kissed me.

I have been kissed by many men, and even a few women.

I am not inexperienced, but the way he kissed was different.

It wasn't that he was the best kisser, if that's even a word; it felt as if he didn't kiss passionately often enough. I'm not saying he was inexperienced or that he didn't kiss well, but rather I felt a hunger in his kissing.

A hunger, I could tangibly feel, a hunger that was hidden most of the time, but at this moment, that hunger was free and needed to be fulfilled. A hunger that didn't scare me, but rather, now visible to me, excited me and made my body respond in a way that should have made me blush.

At that moment, another door opened for me. I felt desired; this was the door I had secretly feared was closed and locked forever.

I wondered if he could sense my own hunger, an all-encompassing need to be something more than just what I had come to expect lately. I hoped this glimpse was real, would be sustained, and would leave me feeling and wanting more. My interest over the past few months made me think I knew where his feelings came from, but whatever they were, they made my heart beat faster.

At almost forty-eight, my fear of being forgotten or worse, ignored, was tangible.

For most of my life, people had told me I was pretty and even beautiful sometimes. I had never really believed them, but deep down, I liked it when they had told me.

Their comments helped to make up for how little I felt appreciated and noticed at home and even at work. But as I got older, even those few comments happened less and less, and my confidence, desires, and self-image all suffered.

It had seemed like with each passing day, I was becoming more and more invisible as a woman and just a person that everyone saw; a sexless worker who was capable, but nothing more, and with each day, I felt I wasn't me anymore.

Until him.

It didn't happen overnight, and there was something. Months of what I know now were a subtle and vulnerable building of trust by him, so quiet, I never noticed it. It wasn't even sexual, certainly not at first, but it was there. It was more about him seeing me as a real person and as a woman than anything about seduction.

That first time, how long we kissed, I don't know.

For a man I had expected to be tentative and passive, but his kisses were strong and passionate, each one a surprise that almost took my breath away, that hunger.

Yet he wasn't dominant as other men might have been. He was comfortable with me in his arms. I felt he cared about me, what I felt, what I thought, no, it wasn't dominance, at least not any way I had ever thought about it before.

I could feel the power and strength in his body, especially with his lips on mine. I felt his fingers and hand cup my small breasts. Surprised again, this time by his knowing touch and the nimbleness and talent of his fingers and thumbs, I could really tell that how I felt was more important to him than how he felt.

I wasn't used to that, or I had forgotten, but maybe I had never been used to that.

All of these feelings and emotions made me repeatedly inhale sharply. I felt myself melting more against him; he knew what to do, he didn't ask permission, nor did he waste any time. I could already feel my knees wobbling a little, and we had just begun.

His finger made the thin material of my tank top feel as if it weren't there, and my body was already reacting on its own to him. I could feel my nipples harden and engorge. It was funny, so often I have always felt somehow cheated by having a small chest, but right now, with him, he seemed to know just how erotic the feel of the silky material and his touch felt next to my skin, he made me feel that my chest, and everything about me, was perfect to him.

My breathing was coming in increasingly frequent gasps and short, shallow breaths as I kissed him back, my lips and tongue dancing with him. I felt his hand between my legs, and instead of being shocked by his forwardness, I found myself pushing hard against those same fingers.

Lost in surprise and the eroticism of the moment, I felt my world collapsing from being in the large building, full of dozens of people, to just this room, to just me alone with him. As a lover, this might be what I found most erotic, was how, no matter how many times we were together, he always made me feel this way.

I hadn't realized I had closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I looked into his blue eyes and let myself drop the guard I used to protect myself. To me, it seemed his eyes sparkled, even in the dim lights of the storeroom.

From moment to moment, I could hear people talking and moving about in the hallway below. For a split second, I thought about their daily activities, only a few feet from where we were, and how oblivious they were. The thought only excited me more. Then he kissed me even more deeply.

After each time, I had doubts, and I felt guilty. Every time, part of me thought this was wrong, but as he opened more doors in me, that part of me really missed the feelings he stirred. I decided, at least for now, that I needed him more than I needed to recognize what we were doing was wrong.

Yes, I worked for him, but I was a consenting adult, and more importantly, a willing adult. I wondered what drove him. He had an attractive wife, a nice house, and seemingly a perfect life. Why would he jeopardize all of that?

"Passion, a need to feel alive, my family sees me as a provider, not as a man," he told me once, much later. I could understand that.

Back in that dusty room, I kissed him harder and pushed my body harder against his fingers, rising against them to gain a better angle and more intense sensation.

---

Sometimes I wondered why he chose me.

He told me that he had fallen for me the first time he saw me. At first, I almost didn't believe him, but when I thought of how I felt with my head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat, the way I felt safe and loved in his arms, I knew this to be true.

When I first joined this team, I was so focused on learning, proving, and standing up for myself, and being essentially a single mom for a husband that was both narcissistic and would barely touch me, much less satisfy me, I never really even thought much about him. According to the store rumour mill, I was supposed to have been involved with at least three of the other staffers, two men and one woman, at different times... none of which were actually true, but it didn't stop people from talking.

To be fair though, previously, I had a special friend who was everything my husband was not. With my life, romance was not something I had time for. I liked sex, I liked fucking, but it was always just for the moment because when the moment was over, I had to return to my increasingly dark world. I couldn't afford romance; I was too busy just surviving to let myself have dreams of ever living happily ever after.

For the past few years, as I got a little older, even that relationship has ended, and for a while, I satisfied myself with a series of one-night stands that I found less and less satisfying and, as much as they provided a release, had a destructive effect on my self-image.

This one, though, had stirred a spark, a flicker, of something in me, something I didn't think I had anymore and could barely remember.

I underestimated him. Given his baldness and how some people referred to him, I didn't think many women or men would have looked twice. Even up until the first time I saw him naked, I wouldn't have thought he was well built; his dress shirts, ties, and business wear were loose and did very well at hiding what lay beneath.

It wasn't until one day he picked up something large and awkward without any seeming effort that I noticed the muscles flexing through his shirt that I realized how strong he might be.

Only when I started to think back on his interactions with me did I realize he always had a compliment for me, whether it was the clothes I wore or how well I was doing at work. It took me equally as long to notice his quiet sensuality, and even with me, I questioned if it were real, but once I noticed it, I got to the point where I couldn't help but notice it.

---

Most men, even that special friend, were not really interested in me. Most liked fucking, but that was almost always about them, never about me. All of which brings me back to that doorway, still naked, and the two visitors long gone.

He was still fully dressed as I let his hands glide effortlessly over my entire body. I could feel his warm breath seemingly everywhere at once. Shivering, but not from the cold, and inhaling his scent, all I could compare it to was a combination of the scent of rich leather, the masculine scent of machinery, and something like cinnamon, it was a unique, lingering scent that suited him well and was reassuring to me.

He made me feel confident, and whenever he kissed me, his single-minded focus on me never failed to make me feel special and very turned on.

Now, in that space just inside that doorway, I closed my eyes as he knelt in front of me and leaned me against the wall, and I felt his tongue softly touch the opening petals of my pussy.

This was something I had rarely encountered, and I certainly wasn't complaining. Not that men hadn't gone down on me before, but usually, I had always been the first onto my knees, and as much as I loved giving blowjobs, having my partner think about my needs before his was just one more way I knew he was different.

He was different, for the time he took, his single-minded focus on me, and god was his tongue and the rest of him good at it.

As he knelt in front of me, his breath feeling hot, and his hands moving on my thighs, for a moment, my thoughts went back to the first time he went down on me, only days after our first kiss.

---

I hardly thought a storage closet could be called an erotic location, but when I was with him, I found that any place could be erotic and exciting.

Our eyes met, and I saw the same desire mirrored in him. It wasn't just lust; there was something more, something deeper that pulled us together.

He closed the door behind us. That simple act felt like the closing of a world -- everything beyond those walls didn't exist. The door clasp clicked but didn't lock. Silence fell. It was just us, and then we were kissing. People are mere feet away. The thrill was almost more than I could stand; it was like a sex drug.

The more it happened, the higher my excitement would grow; the thrill of possible discovery was an ever-increasing blend of fearfulness and the growing of wanton desire.

As we kissed, I felt his fingers and hands running up and down my thighs through my clothes. The friction alone created heat but combined with his lips and the parts of his body I was feeling, the urgency and hunger were off the charts.

Then I felt the undoing of the clasp of my slacks, and I could feel his fingers hooking underneath the waist of the pants. I felt him inhale lightly as he started to pull them down over the flare of my ass, his touch both practical and sensual at the same time.

He used his fingers to lightly trace their way over my ass and down the tops of my thighs.

The feeling of someone hooking their fingers around the material of my panties may not seem to be much of a thrill to some, but to me, I had always loved the feeling of being undressed by someone else, especially an older man. As gravity took control, my pants fell into a small pile of material around my ankles, and this time especially, I could feel the small beads of moisture forming between my thighs.

Today I had worn a pair of lacey panties, which were hardly practical for work, but I had been hopeful when I took them from my drawer this morning. Ever since starting this with him, I had begun wearing soft and sexy lingerie again. Under my clothes, the feel of soft lace and silkiness only added to my feelings of sexiness, and it was as much for me as it was for him.

He and I had been stealing away for a moment here, a half an hour there. Each contact was rekindling my desire for thrills and feelings. This was more than a simple fuck or one-night stand; I wasn't really sure where it was going, but I knew I didn't or couldn't stop, no matter the risk.

We met in quiet hallways when no one was there, in the offices; sometimes just a kiss or two, sometimes he fingered me through the thin material of my slacks, and even though the first time I had unthinkingly out of routine worn a pair of granny panties, the danger and his touch made me almost instantly wet and my body feverish. After that, I had promised myself to always be ready; he did not disappoint me.

Today, his fingers moved around the front of me just like his lips danced around mine. I stole a look this time and noticed his eyes were closed, and I watched him for several moments as I didn't even try to control my breathing. He never opened them once, totally focused on me, and oblivious to the danger of discovery.

Now with my panties about knee level, he knelt until he was able to reach my damp panties and managed somehow to get them down to my ankles, where I stepped out of them. His face was now level with my, freshly shaved this morning, pussy. He kissed me gently there, and I felt my knees begin to wobble a little.

Most men I have known would never have gone down on me, the few who would had never gone down on me before I had done them; but this one, hell, he was still fully dressed, and he was on his knees without ever being asked.

I felt like he was kissing me everywhere a thousand times over, never in exactly the same place. I felt the stubble on his face, although clean-cut, I knew the feeling for what it was, and it, I was sure, was something he had considered; consciously, I pushed back against him.